


i promise you won't feel a thing

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(because everything the world could throw, i’ll stand in front, i’ll take the blow)<br/>Richard hurries to save Anne.  'I am Anne Neville, he hears her scream as she pushes herself off the grass and stands, shoving a man in the chest. He jumps off his horse, the animal still moving, and lands solidly on his feet in the mushy grass.' Set during episode 1x05 of 'The White Queen'</p>
            </blockquote>





	i promise you won't feel a thing

He is on horseback, his chainmail clasped tightly around his neck. He has washed his hands numerous times, but they do not yet feel cleansed of the blood that had splattered upon them on the battlefield. His mind still whirls with the memory of the recent battles – Warwick dead, his body strewn amongst the forest floor, the Lancastrian Prince Edward captured and killed ruthlessly, Edward’s overwhelming success. He knows he should feel joyous about their victory, but he cannot summon the energy.

He has to get to her.

God willing, Margaret of Anjou has not already slipped away from the battlefield as she has done so many times before. If she has, not only will he return to Edward without the Lancastrian Queen, Anne will be lost as well. It is a thought he cannot bear, something that sickens him even more than the knowledge of her marriage to the newly dead Prince Edward.

The horse gallops underneath him, making its way through the battlefield and he has to dodge the strewn bodies of fallen soldiers. Lancastrian or York, they are all united in death. Beads of sweat appear on his brow as he urges the horse forward. He cannot let death claim sweet Anne Neville.

He must save her.

He sees Anne, astride a dark horse with her green cloak flowing around her. Her face is anxious, but the young man below her seems to be giving her instructions. His hand grasps the girdle of Anne’s horse tightly, for the roars of the soldiers appear to be frightening the animal.

He hears the arrows before he sees them plunge into the man’s chest, the sound rushing past his eye in such a manner that makes him foolishly cringe with fear that they may be aimed at him. He sees the man below Anne crumble to the ground with a yelp of pain, and he watches her face turn ashen at the sight of the man’s demise.

She turns her head and manoeuvres her horse to view the men rushing toward her, and for a moment his breath catches in the thought that she is looking at him. He kicks his heels into the white horse beneath him, urging the animal to gallop faster.

She may have already suffered harm underneath the hands of her deceased husband; he will not let her be harmed by these malevolent soldiers.

He has to save her.

The screams of Anne ring in his ears as he gallops forward amidst the hordes of roaring soldiers. She has the advantage in her position on horseback, but the men are too strong and pull her down, despite her attempts against their tugging. He can barely breathe as he watches her being pulled to the grass, men’s hands all over her. She attempts to fight back, but she must be weak from her journey and she has always been a slight figure. She has no hope, and in a few moments she will have submitted to the will of the men surrounding her.

He gave no orders for the soldiers to pillage as they saw fit, and neither did his brothers. But the battle turns a man’s blood hot and there are only two solutions to be found.

He cannot let either occur to Anne.

_I am Anne Neville_ , he hears her scream as she pushes herself off the grass and stands, shoving a man in the chest.

He jumps off his horse, the animal still moving, and lands solidly on his feet in the mushy grass. Fury rising as he hears Anne begin to sob pitifully while she still attempts to fight back, he rushes over to the crowd of men and pulls one back in anger, forcing him cruelly to the ground. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, and the crowd of men quickly disperse at the sight of him. Ruthless and idiotic they may be, they would not risk their lives and displeasure from the king just to have a woman.

Anne meets his gaze in apparent wonder, her hair mussed and eyes tired, and he swallows fury at the thought of violent acts he has not been able to save her from. Was the late prince a man who enjoyed viewing his wife’s fear? Surely he was, with such a violent streak. He can almost imagine the horrific things Anne has had to live through, but he forces himself to focus on her, not his anger.

He cannot let her know of the fury within him at her treatment. He cannot resemble her late husband, or the crowd of men who just attacked her. He must be the Richard she remembers, the sweet Duke of Gloucester who was supposed to be her lord husband. Not a man whose fury at her treatment threatens to consume him.

_Lady Anne,_ he murmurs, his voice tender. He gazes down at her, her mouth opening to emit shaky breaths and her gaze shocked at the sight of him. He wishes he could make her forget the pain she has experienced, but he knows he cannot. Nothing can get rid of her memories, not even his love.

Perhaps one day he can make her happy instead, and then happy memories can replace the bad.  

**Author's Note:**

> Because who didn't love the fact that Richard was the one to save her?


End file.
